


(wind) beneath my wings

by boys_in (kaleidosphere)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Can be seen as romantic or platonic, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Injury, M/M, Recovery, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidosphere/pseuds/boys_in
Summary: Of all the birds in the world, Yuri's voice is the prettiest.
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc & Claude von Riegan, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	(wind) beneath my wings

**Author's Note:**

> This is like a weird mix of Cindered Shadows & normal Ashen Wolves canon, since I couldn't decide between the two. Also, I haven't even gotten to time skip Ashen Wolves (I was post-time skip when my kids dropped for the first time, and in my current route I'm still pre-time skip...rip.) so my take on Yuri at that time might not be the best. Still, my love for YuriClaude is stronger than my dedication to complete video games in a timely manner, and thus, this fic is born! 
> 
> I appreciate the read and any feedback, especially because I'm currently experimenting with writing styles! Enjoy!

"Stay still."

Claude doesn't respond, he merely shuts his eyes and tries to think of something else. While he acts cordial and friendly—and to some extent _is_ those things—it's hard to keep up his appearance under the presence of pain. And it isn't as if he is unfamiliar with the idea, if the years full of constant torment and frequent assassination attempts did anything to him. Rather, he is too familiar with pain, and so he makes it a habit to ground himself, lest he drown in the memories otherwise.

Yuri has no sympathy for him or his plight, and gets to working with his faith magic—a concentric glow of magic forming in the air, fingers alight with the Goddess' mercy. Or, that's how faith magic is supposed to work, anyway. Claude doesn't watch as his wound closes itself back up, skin lapping over each other until the seam is perfect, and there is no evidence of pain except for the agony he feels in his bones.

"Thanks," he mutters, eyes still closed. "How'd this happen, anyway?"

"There are a few good answers to that one. It's safe to say that it's all my fault, though."

Claude feels himself chuckle, just slightly concerned at the distance between his body and the sensation. "Why is it your fault?"

Yuri shifts uncomfortably, but doesn't answer. In fact, he doesn't answer for a long time, during which Claude falls in and out of consciousness (again, why?), only to stay awake at the very end. This time, Yuri is beside him and clasping a vial, which looks suspiciously empty.

Claude remembers the taste of bitter weeds and ginger, and almost retches. He restrains himself long enough to ask through gritted teeth, "What happened?"

"Poison," is all Yuri says. There is no jest to his voice, no wind for his wings to ride on. Only quiet, grounded strength, and a regret that radiates like warmth. "And the good kind, too. You were dying faster than I was saving you."

"...Okay." Claude believes that, because he believes in poison, which is science and nature—things that can be explained by the world around them, and not that fatal Goddess who everyone else obsesses over. Not that he particularly hates her, but rather he doubts her integrity, as well as the intentions of the Church heralding Her Word.

It doesn't help that Yuri is surprisingly faithful. How else could he have brought him back from the edge of extinction, if not using the Goddess' imbued healing and nothing else? "Okay," he repeats himself. "Okay, that's believable."

He hears a short laugh. "What, are you saying that you don't usually believe me?"

"Depends. Are you asking if I believe in you sometimes, or most of the time?"

"Anytime. In general. Because, I feel hurt, really I do."

Claude sits upright, realizing he is slanted against a crumbling wall, and sunlight filters in above them. The vague sound of the professor's voice (the promise of an easy mission in the Abyss' underground) resonates in his mind, and the flashing grin of a thief onset, along with Yuri's sharp warning—

The pieces of the puzzle are coming together, but Claude's arms ache too much for him to reach out by himself. He nearly gives in to Yuri as he tries to make sense of it all. "No, it's not that. Rather, I think—I guess…"

"..."

"I guess that belief doesn't _apply_ to you," he hums. "Belief is simply trust, but on a really absurd level? Making sure schemes have schemes and those schemes have schemes of their own. Or maybe it's easier than that—maybe belief is leaving things to chance, or entrusting matters to someone you also trust, because you think the odds will land in your favor one way or another."

"You're oddly poetic for a schemer," Yuri concedes. "But you're accusing me of being a nonbeliever—or being too much of a believer—and I'm not sure how I should respond to that."

 _Me either._ "Like, belief and Yuri? Doesn't mix. Same as oil and water, y'know?"

"Jeez, you really got it bad."

"Huh? Got what?"

"Your head, your injuries. You are making _very_ little sense right now."

 _Oh._ "That's—"

"The poison, again." Yuri blinks once, twice (Claude finds it strange yet not strange at all that Yuri's eyelashes are so long and pretty, and easy to focus on), then speaks with hurriedness. "Don't worry, I already gave you the antitoxin. Although, while you passed out a second time, the last of those bandits showed up."

Alertness feels like daisies pushing through snow as the final layer of resistance melts under the sun. "Bandits? Ugh, there's no end to them, is there?"

"There is," Yuri insists. Claude starts to melt, and the world becomes warmer at the realization. He takes notice of Yuri's position, against the same crumbling wall as him, and how he now favors his left side. Try as he might to cover his pain, Claude also notices the way Yuri's eyes narrow, or how his hand trembles quietly underneath him, like his own body is too much weight to bear.

Then, blood leaks through his shaking fingertips, and Claude scrambles for his things—a concoction or two at the bottom of his quiver—only to come up empty. The quiver lacks both arrows and miracles. He glances to Yuri with a too-truthful expression on his face, and Yuri can't help but laugh, in spite of everything.

"It's okay," he says, in a way that makes it hard to discern if it is or isn't okay. Claude hopes for the former. "I'm not a hero. I wouldn't die in place of someone else."

Claude answers before thinking: "I'm not so sure about that." He remembers the madness with Aelfric, Teach, and the other Wolves who were used as bait. He recalls the blood beast, the chalice, the screams of terror that dissolved into one word, one _plea_ for someone who is gone and is never coming back.

And, against his best wishes, Claude knows the truth about Yuri after asking Teach, himself. He secretly knows about his moonlighting, his mother, as well as his inability to escape being trapped all this time. Why wouldn't Byleth share the secrets with his best student and house leader, after all?

Why wouldn't Yuri?

"Think what you will, but I was just resting, and waiting for you to get lucid again." A smirk, and though he is a fellow schemer, Yuri's mischief shines proudly on his face: drawn brows, lopsided smile, glimmer of silver and gold in those lavender eyes of his. The emotions that Claude often downplays are emphasized in Yuri, and he feels uncomfortable staring into a mirror that refracts, rather than reflects.

So he asks, "Have you been waiting long?"

"I'm still waiting."

"Not anymore." Claude stands to his feet, ignoring the songs of protests that Yuri effortlessly sings. "You're bleeding, I'm out of potions, and our resident faith-magic user is too injured to treat himself. Do I have that all right?"

"You forgot the part where the _brat_ who got hurt in the first place forgot to say _thank you_ to the faith-magic user for saving his ungrateful hide," Yuri hisses, with half the venom he usually has.

Claude smiles at the familiarity of his bite. "I recall myself thanking you at first opportunity."

"Your memory is shit."

"You look worse than that right now."

"Are you going to help me or not? Because if not, I can do without the quips, thank you very much."

As he speaks, the Alliance heir is already quick to work, supporting the trickster with an outstretched hand—offering him a shoulder to lean on as they hobble through the rest of the way home. Their path is underground, littered by rubble and dead bodies, getting darker as the sun disappears overhead and leaves the cracks in the foundation cold and unfound.

He is also sure that there are rats—literal _rats_ —at their heels, and Claude thanks the universe that he's here with Yuri, and not Edelgard, because he doesn't know if he can handle screaming and jumping in addition to what they're already dealing with. Though, he is thankful to be with Yuri for a multitude of reasons beyond that.

But those multitudes are dangerous, in their own right, and Claude fears bringing them to life, just as he fears so many other things in the world. So instead of speaking, he sings. The sound must be unwelcome, because Yuri's eyes are wide and unguarded as they gaze to him, silently willing him to stop.

Claude continues in a cadence that reminds Yuri they are alone, and no one else will bear witness to a songbird's melody. Claude is no bird—he is wyvern, perhaps, and deer, most likely, but never a bird—and yet he chirps, plucking away at a thoughtless song he remembers from last month's chorus recital. It is also a popular tune among the masses, or so he's heard, but such things are out of his depth of field.

Still, he sings.

" _Into the dawn, oh, I wish I could stay…_ "

He doesn't expect Yuri to join in, all things considered, but finds himself pleasantly surprised at a smoother, silkier tone harmonizing with his own as they limp along.

" _Here in cherished halls, and peaceful days…"_

An actual mockingbird, soaring live!

Claude jumps at the chance to match his pace, and soon enough, the two of them are in harmony.

" _I fear the edge of dawn, knowing time betrays…_ "

/

/

Months later, and Claude is in the Shadow Library, poring over scandals, conspiracy theories, and other things the Church dare not name. But whatever it is they choose to hide, Abyss reveals for all its inhabitants, instead. And Claude is among a select few students who are allowed down there, ever since his curiosity (rightfully) got the best of him, all those moons ago.

Unlike then, he is now joined by a companion, who flutters by the bookshelves like a bird to flowers, picking and choosing delights at random. He returns to their shared table with a tall stack of books, and skims through them one by one. It is a familiar routine they share, and Claude doesn't even look up from his own material as he asks, "Authority again?"

"Your professor said it'd be good to master the skill. As if battle tactics and social cues are things worth mastering," Yuri scoffs with a dismissive wave of hand. "Don't act like you don't know."

"But why is he my professor, only? You're part of the class, too, Yuri. You and the other Ashen Wolves."

"Because we're not technically students at the Academy," he reminds softly. "Though if you're going to vouch for some official status or some such...I'd rather you not."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Claude says as he flips the page. He looks up, and meets Yuri's expectant gaze. He imagines that neither of them are too focused on their work right now. "You can ask me what I'm studying this week, too. It's a thing friends can do."

"Friends," Yuri simply repeats the word, with no strings attached, but Claude feels something tug, anyway. "You're right, but I don't need to ask. I recognize that tome."

"You do?"

"Of course. I know enough to recognize a beginner's guide to faith magic." He glances again, and adds, "Volume three! Well, you certainly are dedicated."

"I'm nothing if not dedicated," Claude agrees smugly.

Yuri ignores his bluster. "Yeah, sure. But a certain professor tells me you're actually one of the worst students in that field." He grins at the comparisons that are clear as day: Claude can't hold a candle to Yuri's magical capabilities. In turn, Claude is much more skilled with a bow, though he's seen Yuri try his hand at ranged combat, and while amateurish, his stance and movements are near _perfect._ He's lucky that the trickster prefers swords, in the long run, otherwise he might be outclassed at all angles. "What's the occasion?"

"You never know when you'll need some quick healing," Claude says. "And I'm not bragging about this at all! This is difficult material to get through. I dunno how you and the other healers managed this, or maybe you all hate yourself enough to suffer through it."

"I'm not sure how I did it, either," Yuri says, voice bordering melodic. "Maybe I'm just that lucky."

Claude smiles something inoffensive and easy. "Maybe."

/

/

Days later, and Yuri and Claude are paired up to infiltrate the line of healers on the enemy's offensive line. Yuri sports his usual trickster garb, while Claude runs unburdened in his sniper's wear. Lithe and agile, the two of them make quick work of the unsuspecting monks and priests, helping their allies on the front lines—led by an overenthusiastic Raphael and Balthus, in matching silver gauntlets—break through.

They cut and shoot away at their opponents flawlessly, until one particularly skilled bow knight nips Yuri in the leg with a silver arrow, causing him to tumble. Claude rushes in to assist, retaliating with a well-placed arrow of his own. He hears a sickening _grunt_ (and sees a flash of red escape the offender's throat) before ushering Yuri to the cover of the underbrush.

He is flustered, but not breathless, and protests as his eyes drift to the sight of the concoction strapped to Claude's waist. "You didn't have to—"

Yuri is cut off by the concentric magic circle that forms at Claude's fingertips, widening and pulsating as divine power spreads throughout. Claude's hand directs the light to Yuri's leg, and the arrow falls out of his body as the wound closes up, stitching itself back together seamlessly. The only evidence of pain comes in the lingering sensations, as well as the bloodstained arrowhead collapsed on the ground.

He rises to his feet, and looks upon Claude with near disbelief. "Did you just heal me?"

"Yup. And not any normal Heal spell, either."

Yuri figures it out through the cut on his right arm, or the place where it used to be. Instead, the skin is perfect and unmarred, and the bruising on his shoulder eases up nicely. "Recover," he says aloud, realizing. "Nice."

"Thanks. Been working on that one for a while, honestly."

"I don't suppose you want something in exchange for my healthy recovery?" Yuri says it like it's putting him at a disadvantage, but his eyes are too opportune for that to be the case.

Claude shakes his head. "No, just wanted to return the favor. Someone healed me, too, once upon an underground memory."

"Is that so?" Another smile. "Then I'll be sure to tell Linhardt that you send him your thanks."

To this, Claude laughs, genuine amusement warming his voice like fire. "I'm looking forward to it."

/

/

Years later, and the two of them reunite, when the monastery (and Abyss) is all but destroyed, void of the bustling life it once had. They have their fated meeting, a gathering of Deer underneath palty sunlight, five years spread out between them. Yuri and Claude have plenty of chances to heal each other back and forth, as skirmishes with bandits and struggles with Imperial forces give them little time to contemplate.

Nine days before the march on Enbarr, Claude sits on the bed in his room, books strewn about but ultimately abandoned as someone else demands his time. And Yuri is a tall, graceful image of color, nothing but violets and dahlias and black cosmos at once. Just like before, he seems to move on a whim, elegant but dark, every bit the noxious bird he once was.

He resumes his business in healing by unwrapping Claude's clumsily-done bandage, scowling at the scarred tissue he finds there. "Wow, you really screwed this one up."

Claude laughs at the supposed scolding, far too accustomed to Yuri's bluntness. It isn't overt, like a certain renowned Blue Lion, or cryptic like an even moodier Death Knight, but it bites and stings all the same. "That, I did. I was low on magic and the healers were too occupied. There wasn't time for alternatives."

"You should've asked _me,_ idiot. Still trying to make heroes out of men, are you?" Yuri places his resplendent hands over the affected area, muttering as he tries to make the magic work on a freshly-healed scar. "Don't tell me you were too scared to consider the idea."

"You were needed elsewhere," Claude reminds him. Teach had asked Yuri to go out on a solo mission concerning Abyss, something which the rogue was all too eager to oblige. "But you're right, I missed your motherly coddling in all its glory. Just promise you won't try to wipe my cheek with a hanky, or anything like that."

"I make no promises, ever." Yuri sighs as he places his hands at his sides. "I did my best, but as you can see, this one is pretty permanent."

Claude glances at the affected arm. The injured color is less intense, and some of the more noticeable contours are gone, but the scar remains angrily intact. At least it will be obscured by his usual clothing, if nothing else. "I appreciate it, still. Thank you, friend."

Yuri pauses. Then he raises one brow, displaying curiosity but hiding the worst of it underneath. His mask isn't as unreadable as it used to be, though. Claude even dares to guess that time has made him more _sincere,_ somehow, but he won't voice those theories quite yet. "Friends?"

"Yes, friends. We're friends, Yuri. Always have been, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I've always thought that." Yuri has no problem calling other people his friend, whether he actually means it or not. In fact, he might even admit to having a _habit_ of it—calling Byleth a friend before he even considered using him as a pawn in his little (big) scheme with Aelfric, years and years ago. He calls Claude his friend on occasion, but somehow the word feels odd with him.

Somehow it lacks weight, and while Yuri prefers being light on his feet, he can't deny the gravity that exists when he's around the Duke Riegan.

...Right, he's a Duke, now. Even more reason why the word is out of place, and yet, if Claude is the one insisting they are friends, who is Yuri to refuse that?

"I've always considered you a friend," Yuri repeats. "I even liked the way you hold your cards to your chest. Remember?"

"Yeah, you said as much yourself, way back then." At the time he saw it as a challenge: now, Claude views the memory fondly. "You sure know how to lay it on thick, huh?"

A laugh. Of all the birds in the world, Yuri's voice is the prettiest. Claude allows himself a moment of weakness to think that, and nothing else. "I'm glad you're a man who appreciates my charm. Or maybe it's not my charm you're after, but rather my potent healing skills. In which case, you're dirtier than you look, Riegan."

"Healing skills my ass," Claude jokes, nudging to his afflicted arm. "And if being dirty is what it takes to win this war, so be it. I'd figure you'd appreciate those tactics more than anyone else, Yuri." No last name to retort the 'Riegan' with, but Claude isn't bothered. Yuri can keep all his secrets close as Claude keeps his own, but one day he has to give in.

One day, the game will end, and the cards will lay themselves on the table—revealed to all. He awaits and dreads the moment with something like excitement.

Yuri must feel the same, because his smile is less severe and more bright, and he bothers to keep up this needless conversation with words of his own—crafted lies and broken truths, mixed into one terrible, awful sight that only another liar could appreciate. "You're right," he agrees. "Besides, I like my schemes the same way I like my suitors."

"Incomplete?" Claude offers.

" _Underhanded,_ " Yuri insists. He sounds scornful, but his hand grazes over Claude's weary knuckles with nothing but _softness._ "And well-thought out, but you're an airhead if there ever was one."

 _All the better to help you fly._ Instead, Claude says, "If you're the genius between the two of us, then this whole thing is royally screwed."

Yuri grins, unaffected, easy. "It is."


End file.
